


Tinned Chicken Soup for the Soul

by Emeraldawn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeraldawn/pseuds/Emeraldawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is the healer, not Draco.  Draco has no idea how to take care of his sick husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tinned Chicken Soup for the Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drarryisgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryisgreen/gifts).



> This was a gift during a holiday exchange for darryisgreen. 
> 
> "So I included Harry and Draco, some Healer, no Hermione (ok her name is said once), some humor and compassion and misunderstand and fluff. Oh, and Draco couldn’t give a rat’s ass about potions. *wipes brow* I hope you like!"
> 
>  
> 
> Killpurakat - who is awesome and I don’t think she’ll be getting coal in her stocking this year.

Having a healer for a husband was not something Draco ever envisioned. Mostly because his husband was Harry Potter. Harry, who everyone thought was destined to become this great Auror--head of the department even!

But somewhere during their engagement year, Harry announced he was sick of chasing down the next wannabe dark lord and left it all behind for healing school.

Which was fine for Draco, since the most he would then have to worry about concerning his husband’s work was long nights with Harry on shift due to outbreaks of wizard flu.

And of course, that was exactly what happened when their floo opened up and Harry stumbled out. And by stumbled, Draco meant Harry fell on his knees, unable to keep himself standing.

“Merlin, Harry! You're burning up. Who sent you home like this?” Harry didn’t answer, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ll take you back and have someone look at you.”

“No, Draco, it’s just the flu.” Harry’s voice sounded dry and horse, like he had been screaming for hours in a desert. “Just need sleep.”

“Harry, I think you are far worse than in need of a nap.” Draco looked over at the floo, wondering if he could get Harry in it and back to St. Mungo's quickly. 

“The children’s ward is flooded with sick kids,” Harry whispered into his neck. “I’ll be fine; you’ll take care of me.” 

Draco looked at Harry, who had gone limp in his arms. Sometimes he wondered if Harry had too much faith in him.

 

Using a bit a magic and a lot patience, Draco got Harry into bed, but after that he was at a loss. His first step had been to floo-call St. Mungo’s requesting a healer. But he was told all healers were busy. The intern did rattle off a list of potions that might be needed before he disconnected the floo. 

Looking through their potion-stocked medicine cabinet, Draco found some of the listed items--like headache potion--but others--like nutrient potion--were absent. And none of the apothecaries he floo called had the potions in stock.

Draco lay a cool cloth across Harry’s forehead, his mother had for him when he was sick. The trouble was Draco had no reference on what to do. When he was sick, a healer was on hand. That had been the power of Malfoy money and influence. Until then, Draco was cared for by the house elves. House elves they no longer employed. And Draco didn’t want to follow his father’s tyrannical ways and make a healer rush over for a simple case of wizarding flu.

That left only one person Draco could turn to for help. He didn’t really want to make the call, but Harry’s health was more important than Draco’s aversion to the woman. For Harry’s sake, he tried to get along with the Weasleys, but Draco wasn’t Ginny, and there was always an undertone when he was around. 

“Draco. Didn’t expect you to call.”

“Sorry to impose on you, Mrs. Weasley-”

“Draco, it’s Molly. Remember we are _family_ after all.” 

“Yes. Molly. I am called because Harry’s sick-”

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

“Harry was sent home from work. He has the wizarding flu.”

“Oh dear! And I’m neck deep in sick grandchildren! Ron and Hermione’s children came down with it yesterday, and Bill’s children are here sick too. We’re running low on our potion stock.”

“I don’t know what to do -” 

“Sorry, Draco. Send Harry our love!” And without a “good day,” the floo connection was closed. It was starting to become a habit. 

Draco sat on the floor, loathing the way he had begged and was still cut off. The coughing from the bedroom made Draco feel useless. He was the head of the Malfoy estate! A figure in the Ministry! And he didn’t know how to help his sick husband with a case of wizarding flu!

Making potions was out. He felt less than enthused about the subject since Hogwarts, and they had no ingredients anyway.

But maybe there was something in Harry’s study.

 

After searching Harry’s study, Draco come across a book: Home Remedies For Simple Ailments And Sicknesses. It was a muggle book, but Draco remembered Harry telling him that the only difference between wizarding sicknesses and Muggle ones was how the patients’ magical cores were affected. The sickness was worse in the young because of both weaker body and control. 

That didn’t make Draco feel any better. Harry was known to still have bursts of accidental magic, though it was rare.

Sitting next to Harry, Draco read the book. He already made a pot of weak tea and a pitcher of cool--not cold--water after he read that keeping hydrated was needed. Both were spelled to keep the appropriate temperatures. 

Harry seemed to be in the fever stage of this flu, complete with coughing and general aches. Draco hoped it didn’t fall into the throat and respiratory stages. Draco gave Harry some headache potion, but unlike Muggle aspirin, it did nothing for the fever. And they didn’t have anything for coughs. 

Draco thumbed the page he had been reading. Harry looked so miserable laying there. The book had a shopping list of items that could help Harry. He could just pop over to the nearest Muggle shop, pick up what he needed, and be back quickly. 

Taking the book and Harry’s back up Muggle money (the man loved his bakery trips), he left for the little village down the road.

 

Draco entered the small shop that carried a variety of items from food to medicines, and a lot of odd things in between. Harry hadn’t taken him to the store since he’d told Harry that Muggles didn’t know the difference between cotton and pearls, as the box feminine products stated. Of course, Harry wasn’t too happy Draco had open the box. But he had wanted to see the quality of the pearls.

This time, he wanted nothing to go wrong. He even had the copied list from the book. 

This first items were easy. He pick up some ginger, tea, and honey. The book mentioned vitamin C via lemons and oranges. He picked some lemons to use in the tea. At the end of an aisle, Draco saw an advertisement for tinned chicken soup. The poster reminded people to stock up for the cold and flu season. Draco picked up a few. He didn’t know how Muggles opened them, but a cutting spell should suffice. 

He got more than a few Muggles looking at him funny when he held up various bottles of cough syrup to the light, rotating the bottle. The book called for a thick coating syrup to suppress the cough. Two brands looked watered down and he didn’t know if the colors indicated any difference. He wouldn’t trust the liquid to taste like cherry, with how Muggles had a habit of labeling thing falsely. 

Tossing some throat soothers, that were guaranteed to chill a burning throat, Draco paused and picked up a blue hot water bottle. Rotating the bottle in his hand, Draco couldn’t figure out why muggles would want to carry hot water in a rubber water bottle, or why they would want to carry hot water around at all. He knew they had hot water via pipes like wizards did. Muggles had strange ideas. 

 

Draco was picking up another box to read, scanning the directions on the box, when he heard a voice behind him.

“Can I help you look for anything, sir?” the muggle asked, looking at the box in Draco’s hand, and then the contents of his basket. Draco dropped the box in his basket, grabbing another two to add to the pile.

“No. Where’s the check out?” Hating the way the muggle was looking at Draco, he decided to go home. He needed to get back to Harry anyway. After paying, he apparated home. 

 

Harry had woken up by the time Draco had gotten home. Still groggy, Harry’s eyes were opened to half mast. Draco placed a hand on his forehead, which felt clammy. 

“Okay, Harry, I have some stuff for you to take. I’ll pop you full of Muggle medicine and you can sleep. Soon, you’ll be running around like you're after the snitch.”

Measuring out the doses, Draco gave Harry the thick red cough syrup--which he gagged on--and two aspirin that he crushed and gave to Harry on a spoon with a bit of tea. Placing all the items on the nightstand, Draco read outloud to Harry, watching his husband drift to sleep. It was one of the few things he remembered his mother doing when he was sick.

For the next ten hours, Draco read in between keeping Harry warm, giving him medicine, and making him drink whenever he stirred. There was a part of Draco--the old, controlling selfish part--that wanted to hit Harry with some sort of spell and take away his sickness because Draco would rather sleep. But when Harry looked at him with hazy eyes, as Draco gave him some water, he found himself pulling Harry’s hand in his, and holding it until Harry fell asleep again.

 

Draco must had fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was blinking with the sun in his eyes. He was also no longer in the chair, but curled up on the bed with Harry’s arm flung over his waist. 

“Morning, Draco,” Harry’s voice still sounded rough, but it didn’t sound as if he was straining to talk anymore.

“Morning. Let me get you some more tea-”

“No, I’ll get up in a bit. I want to shower anyway.”

“Feeling better?”

“Much. And if my mind wasn’t too fever ridden, I have you to thank.” 

Draco felt a hot kiss on the back of his neck before Harry pulled away to get up. Rolling over, Draco watched Harry get up, a bit slower than normal.

“Draco, love, can you tell me why we have three boxes of condoms?”

“Oh, those. I had to go to a muggle store and get you some medicine. I saw those there and picked them up. You’re going to start using them every day too.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are.” Draco picked up a box and pointed at the label. “See, right here, ‘to prevent disease.’ And this one is designed ‘for comfort.’”

Harry burst out laughing. Really, did the man have no regard for his health?


End file.
